STEVE.
It's a blade of grass tickling his nose that starts to lift Steve's mind back through the layers of unconsciousness -- through the deepest and detached state and up through progressively more lucid levels on the ascent. He slaps a hand to his face, instinctively, but then a voice calling out somewhere near by cranks his mind into high gear. He can hear the name but it takes another second for his full awareness to sink a hold on it. When he does, everything freezes.
Nancy.
He's on his feet, practically launching himself upright. His side be damned, even if the quick movement ignites a searing pain in his fresh wounds. She was in front of him a second ago. A second ago. But as he looks around, there's no one there.
"NANCE!"
He picks a direction and starts in it.
"NANCY!"
But she wasn't responsive. What are the odds she'd call back? Shit. Shit, shit, and shit.